My dream of having a book signing at Barnes & Noble came true this weekend! Just a few years ago, I clearly remember walking by a table set up at our local Barnes & Noble for an author’s book signing. I wished that could be me someday. I’ve always loved writing, but never though that I would actually be published. As a chronic pessimist, I’m surprised to tell you that sometimes dreams do actually come true!
I am so very grateful for the wonderful support and encouragement that I have received from The Wild Rose Press, my editor Melanie Billings, and all of my generous friends! If you have a dream, don’t give up on it. Put the hard work in and surround yourself with as much support as possible. It is worth it!
I’ve always admired those people who don’t seem to care what others think of them. Those free spirits, who carve their paths out of dreams and hard work and roads less traveled. But I’ve never been one of them. At least not on the inside.
I allow myself glimmers of that freedom. But I’ve yet to master the art of not worrying that I am under constant scrutiny. So, publishing a book has been hard. What if I offend someone? What if people feel obligated to buy it and secretly hate it? What if my characters are too flawed, or my writing isn’t strong enough?
Several years ago I was stopped outside of my local grocery store by an old family friend. This particular person knew me a lifetime ago. Back when I was a different person. I grew up in an ultra-conservative church where I also attended the adjacent school. My life was constricted by the rules within those walls. And there were a lot of rules and loads of walls.
It was a sultry sunny day, and I was wearing flip flops. On the way to my car, I was stopped as this woman stared down at my offending foot— the one with my daughter’s name delicately tattooed onto it. “But I never thought that you would get a tattoo! You were always such a quiet and good little girl!” She stared at me admonishingly. Judgments come so easily for some folks.
The church culture I grew up in was full of contradictions. Love your neighbor, but only if you convert them in the meantime. Love each other, as long as it isn’t gay love.
So when one of the characters in Choosing Charity fell in love with another woman, I followed where the story took me. When I write, I like to see what happens. And this happened.
And I let it.
Many years ago when I first started writing this book, an early reader from a religious writers’ workshop commented that the character might be “demon possessed” because she liked women. Really? Demon-possessed? I mean, I grew up being force-fed lies about homosexuality being a sinful choice. But, demon-possession? Come on.
Our childhoods may shape us, but they don’t have to define us. Yet I still have many friends and family who I fear judge me because I chose to write an LGBTQ+ friendly book. And I get it that people like and dislike all sorts of books for all sorts of reasons. I wish I could honestly say that I don’t care what they think. Would it change things if a character in my book was a serial killer? Or a judgmental Sunday school teacher? Or an abusive priest? There are so many choices.
Choosing Charity isn’t salacious. But I guess it does have an agenda. Love comes in all forms. Everyone has a story to tell. And, when you pull apart their stories, and study the heartache and adventure and challenges that shape each of our journeys you will find threads of love. After all, even the “demon-possessed” deserve love.
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Squeezing the bridge of her nose, the beginning of a dreaded aura began creeping along her field of vision. Anna looked around the interior of the ambulance, noting how everything was beginning to blur and shift. If she didn’t take her migraine pill soon, she’d be hit with the pain, not to mention dealing with the repercussions of a migraine for days. Thankfully, she had thought to grab her purse. She felt around until her fingers located the pillbox. Pulling out the small silver blister pack, she peeled one open and stuck the small white wafer onto her tongue. It dissolved into a milky blob as it slid down the back of her throat. The EMT watched in silence. Anna gave him a small smile and he returned one. The woman beside her closed her eyes. So Anna took the opportunity to get a better look. Her dark tresses remind her of the pond she used to swim in on hot summer nights in Maine. How does she keep her hair so shiny? She reached up to touch her own fair hair. I should get my roots touched up. She looked down as the stranger felt for her hand again, squeezing it into her own. Her nails were short and had remnants of black polish. She wore a knotted Celtic ring. When she caught her looking, she turned away.
Sara Zavacki-Moore 